


Drunken Lullabies

by HectorRashbaum (FifteenDozenTimes)



Category: Flogging Molly
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-09-22
Updated: 2008-09-22
Packaged: 2017-10-08 07:51:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,100
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/74355
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FifteenDozenTimes/pseuds/HectorRashbaum
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Reluctance and the art of being a horny, forgetful drunk.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Drunken Lullabies

**Author's Note:**

> Depending how you feel about one party being heavily inebriated during otherwise consensual sex, you may feel my choice not to warn for rape/non-con was incorrect. If that's how you feel, stopping here is the easiest way to prevent triggering.

The fact that Nate was so stinking drunk he was likely to fall off the stage if he didn't stick back by the drums was somewhere in the corner of Bob's mind, but it wasn't doing much to change his reaction to the heat of Nate's body so close behind him (_how the fuck could he get so close with a bass strapped on close he was so close fuck_).

And he completely forgot about it when Nate leaned, shoulder against Bob's shoulder and lips right up against his ear, breathed in and out _hot breath against my ear blood boiling fuck banjo and erection don't mix_ and whispered to him – or probably tried to whisper, but drunk as he was and with the volume of the music around them he practically screamed it to the audience – "Fuck, your ass is driving me crazy."

He probably should've just laughed it off – Nate being Nate, and drunk at that, just goofing off and seeing if he could throw him. He usually did it to Matt _why had they switched sides there was a reason fuck never again_, tonight he just had a different victim. But Bob's dick sure as Hell wasn't laughing, going from vaguely hard to pressing against his slacks in an instant.

Even the weak protests of the corner of his mind that knew Nate had to just be goofing off vanished when Nate licked him _fucking licked me hot wet tongue oh God-fucking-dammit how am I still playing_, licked his ear and then down to his neck and then _oh shit lips against my neck and just a little tongue and Nate's trying to kill me_.

And then Nate stepped back, off to the drums to play to George and the front to play to Dave, harass Bridget, whatever he felt like doing, and Bob was left half trying to figure out what the fuck was going on, half trying to will his erection down, and somehow still supposed to play his goddamned banjo.

\----------

Thinking disgusting thoughts had done nothing for his arousal – Bob had known it wouldn't, shows always left him a little worked up anyway so he wasn't exactly starting from zero – and while the complete lack of hot water had helped for a little while, in his bunk he couldn't get his mind away from _hot breath wet tongue fuck should've turned my head, made him kiss me what would he have done_ and was left with the vague conflict presented by not knowing if he'd be able to look Nate in the eye after jerking himself off to the thought of Nate fucking him.

The curtain rustled _of course someone would interrupt now fuck_ and pulled back...and there was Nate. A little haggard – getting smashed enough to hurl onstage will do that to a guy – pretty obviously still drunk, but he was there and he was...climbing into the bunk. Jesus fuck he'd never get his hard-on down enough to sleep if Nate was feeling _cuddly_.

Nate was a gangly motherfucker, all long limbs, and even if there were enough room for two normal people there definitely wasn't for twenty feet of arms and the sixteen elbows Nate was clumsy enough to make it seem like he had. But somehow he managed to climb in and get nice and wrapped around Bob _everywhere at once leg rubbing against his cock maybe he's too drunk to care if I get off on him...okay that's kind of sick_ and draw the curtain...and do nothing. Didn't speak, didn't move, just stayed put, thigh pressed against Bob's even-more-insistent erection and breath tickling his neck for what felt like an eternity.

He'd been quiet and still long enough Bob thought he was asleep and started to turn his thoughts towards escaping so he could finally get off when Nate spoke. Well, mumbled. Slurred. "Your ass, man."

Bob grinned a little. "Yeah, yeah. Drives you crazy."

Nate pressed his lips against Bob's neck for the second time that night, kissing the spot easiest to reach until Bob was certain he was gonna lose it any minute. "'S hot. You got a hot...wanna fuck you, sometimes."

"When you're drunk."

He could feel Nate grin, and then _fuck_ all he felt was Nate's hand slipping from his shoulder down his bare chest, just the lightest brush over his nipple _fuck almost tickles he's drunk don't let him fuck where's his leg going_ and then he was undoing the drawstring on Bob's sweatpants, not quite drunk enough to be confused by the knot (first night he could drink legally, he trapped himself in his own pants and hadn't yet been allowed to forget it) and thank fuck for that because his hand _fuck it's cold oh shitting Hell_ wrapped around Bob's dick and he had to bite down to keep from shouting.

"Not just...well, yeah, but not – bet you feel good, you'd feel good if I fucked you."

The slurring was throwing him off but not enough to keep his hips from thrusting into that hand _not so cold now fuck just a little faster please for the love of God_ and Nate shifted, tightened his grip just a little and lifted his head to practically attack Bob with the sloppiest kiss on Earth and it was _good_ fuck he was close so close, so hard it almost hurt and he ground his hips, clutched at Nate's shoulders and tried to remember to fucking breathe.

Nate twisted his wrist, just a little, just enough _Jesus hell fuck that's it that's it can't oh God that's fucking **it**_ and he came in a white-hot rush that left him fucking blind and completely beyond the point of coherent thought.

Apparently satisfied, Nate pulled up, gave him a lopsided grin, and then in another clumsy shift (that would've left Bob surprised he didn't get a knee to the dick if he were aware enough to think about that kind of thing) he got himself comfortable and was snoring in seconds.

\----------

Bob woke up half-hard, would've been fully hard except fuck he hadn't washed up and dried come was fucking _itchy_, and with a sigh slipped Nate's hand out of his pants, tied them back up, and slipped out of the bunk hoping (again) this time he'd remember his late-night drunken confession.

But experience dictated that wasn't exactly likely, he reminded himself, so he tried to tell himself not to hope and wandered to the back of the bus to find a washcloth for himself and some aspirin to help Nate recover.


End file.
